


Cut Concepts

by TheMockingJ3



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Based on cut character concept designs for Henry and Randall, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Haircuts, Henry has a moustache, Hershel Layton does not age, Humour, Inspired by teenytinyapprentice‘s amazing art of Tumblr, M/M, Miracle Mask, Monte d’Or, Randall Ascot has a mid-life crisis, Randall looks like a cross between Desmond and Clark, Stansbury gang, What if they still had those designs... when they’re older?, a bit of angst too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingJ3/pseuds/TheMockingJ3
Summary: Imagine: If Henry had a moustache... and Randall looked like a cross between Desmond Sycamore and Clark Triton, but so much worse.
Relationships: Alphonse Dalston & Angela Ledore, Alphonse Dalston & Henry Ledore, Angela Ledore & Henry Ledore, Hershel Layton & Angela Ledore, I think that’s everyone - Relationship, Randall Ascot & Alphonse Dalston, Randall Ascot & Angela Ledore, Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton, Randall Ascot/Henry Ledore, Ranhengela if you squint, Stansbury Gang Reunion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Cut Concepts

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: For Miracle Mask, with implications for Azran Legacy and Curious Village. 
> 
> Set: After Miracle Mask... and then several more years after Miracle Mask, after Hershel has adopted Flora, Alfendi and Kat. There’s a change of perspective from Henry to Hershel’s half way through
> 
> Warnings: Ageing, I guess? A bit of angst from Randall? Poking fun at people’s facial hair or lack thereof? 
> 
> Note: This was inspired by @ teenytinyapprentice’s fanart on Tumblr of... concept character art for Randall and Henry. To quote them, ‘concept art Henry looks SO CUTE and concept art Randall looks SO BAD’ :’D I’m not sure where the original Miracle Mask concept art can be found, but I’ll post the link for the fanart if I can: https://teenytinyapprentice.tumblr.com/post/641393447522222080/concept-art-henry-looks-so-cute-and-concept-art

_ “Pfffffft...!” _

Henry, having served everyone else their breakfast, sat in the armchair closest to the front doors. He picked up his porcelain teacup, politely ignoring Dalston’s snickers from across the coffee table. 

What he could not ignore were Randall and Angelas’ shocked reactions. The two of them had been chatting just a minute ago on the settee, but they had gone silent as soon as they saw Henry’s face. 

“Is something the matter?” Henry asked airily. The cup felt warm against his chin as he sipped his coffee. (It might take some time for him to become accustomed...) 

Dalston chortled. Randall and Angela exchanged a glance, caught in a silent debate. Angela nodded, placed her half-finished plate of avocado toast on the table, and stood up. 

“Excuse me...” 

She shuffled past Dalston— though it would have been far easier to exit on Henry’s side— and slipped out of the parlour. Henry heard her hurrying upstairs. 

Randall cleared his throat and said, “Henry... Are you  okay?” 

“ Of course,” Henry said, lowering his cup. “Why wouldn’t I be?” How long could he keep up this pretence under Randall’s concerned gaze? 

There was a wheeze from Dalston. Both Henry and Randall glared at him. 

“If you aren’t going to take this  _seriously,_ ” Randall grumbled, “then you can  _get lost.”_

“Please,  _do_ ,” Henry agreed. ( _Why_ had Angela insisted on letting him stay the night?) 

The sooner Dalston left, the sooner Henry could explain his odd demeanour to Randall. 

Dalston clamped a hand over his mouth, but snorts continued to escape from his nose. 

Randall huffed and returned his attention to Henry. Randall crept over to Henry, settled on the arm of his chair, and caressed Henry’s face. 

“Henry,” he said seriously, gazing into Henry’s eyes. 

Henry gulped. His gaze darted to Dalston— Why wouldn’t the bloody conman just LEAVE?— but then Randall occupied his whole vision. Henry stammered, Y-yes, Master Randall?” 

Randall cupped Henry’s face in his hands. “How could you—“ He titled Henry’s bare chin up. “— _shave off your BEARD?” _

Dalston burst out laughing. 

Angela bolted back into the parlour. “It’s  alright!”  she cried. She held up the shaving razor Henry had used that morning. (Had she really gone through the bathroom  _bin_...?) “I don’t think he’s an  imposter!” 

“ _What?”_ Henry reared his head back from Randall.

“Still, can’t be too careful,” Randall said. He squinted at Henry. “What were your  _first_ wedding vows to Angela?” 

_“Stay by my side and I'll bring you the treasure you truly desire,”_ Henry recited. 

Angela nodded, but Dalston scoffed, “Too obvious. Even  _I_ knew that!” 

Henry scowled at him— Dalston was fully aware of  _why_ Henry had shaved— but without his beard, he doubted it had the same effect. He was too fresh-faced to appear threatening. 

“Dalston’s right...” (Never before had Randall uttered those words.) “What are you most afraid of, ‘Henry’?” 

Aside from losing the man he had spent half of his life searching for? Henry sighed. “...Horses.” (He still hadn’t recovered from that incident at the racecourse...) 

Dalston doubled over so much that he almost fell out of his chair.

“Correct!” Randall said as Angela swooped in to steady the coffee table. Randall jabbed a finger at Henry’s chin. “So... what’s the meaning of  _this_?” 

Henry wished he could sink into the depths of his armchair. Blushing, he mumbled, “Blame  _him...”_

Randall and Angela turned to Dalston, who was now sitting up straight and twiddling his moustache. “It’s not _my_ fault you can’t grow the ‘perfect moustache’,” Dalston taunted. “The _Monte d’Or Gazette_ reckons I’ve got the best facial hair in town!” 

“ _You’re_ not exactly  _Salvador Dali_ ,”  Angela informed him. (Henry could have sworn Dalston’s moustache drooped slightly.)

“ _Ha_!” Randall shouted. He then whispered to Henry, “Who’s ‘Salvador Dali’—?” 

“Why did you have to shave your  whole beard, Henry?” Angela interrupted.

Henry rubbed his chin with a sigh. “I thought I would... start afresh and grow a moustache from there.” 

Brushing her fingers through her curls, Angela wondered, “Will it grow back quicker after that?” 

“ _Nope!_ ”  Dalston said, popping the ‘P’ at the end. “It probably won’t grow back at all—“

“Don’t you have a  _hotel_ to run?” Randall remarked. 

“That I do...” With a grunt, Dalston got to his feet. He smirked at Henry. “Thanks for the breakfast, Baby Face—“

“You’ve got  crumbs around your mouth, Alphonse,” Angela pointed out. 

Dalston went red, wiped his mouth and marched out of the mansion. 

“Don’t listen to him, Henry,” Randall consoled. “Your beard  will grow back... but in the meantime, you still look handsome!” He patted Henry’s cheek. 

Angela hummed, smiling. “It reminds me of when you were younger...” 

Henry cringed— he would much rather his awkward teenage self remained in the past. (The photos from his first newspaper interview still haunted him...)

Randall pulled his hand away from Henry’s face. “I didn’t... get to see you,” Randall murmured. His frown moved from Henry to Angela. “Either of you... growing up. I’m sorry.” 

It was Angela and Henrys’ turn to glance at each other. 

“Randall...” Angela breathed. She perched on the other arm of Henry’s chair. Catching Randall’s hand, she said, “I’m...  glad you didn’t see me like that. I was so... so  different after you—“

“After I _left_?” Randall finished, clenching the fist she wasn’t holding. 

“After I thought you’d  _died_ ,” Angela corrected him in a quivering voice. “It was like... losing my brother again, but a million times  _worse_. I locked myself away, I let my parents run my life, I blamed  _Hershel_...”

At this, Henry bowed his head. Not once had he considered that Hershel might have killed Randall, but he had accused Hershel of betraying Randall’s memory. Had his contempt for Hershel poisoned Angela? 

The more Henry thought about it... He, too, was relieved that Randall hadn’t known him during all those years of searching. Henry had been cold and distant— even towards Angela and Mrs Ascot... and especially towards Dalston. 

As much as Dalston could still annoy him, it was mostly in good humour these days (Henry hoped)— like when they were kids. 

Dalston hadn’t  _forced_ Henry to shave off his beard, had he? 

Smiling softly, Henry looked up. Randall still seemed despondent, and Angela had lapsed into silence. 

“All of that’s behind us now, isn’t it?” Henry proclaimed. “We have plenty of happy years to look forward to—“

“— _Together_ ,”  Angela said at the same time as him. She smiled at Henry and continued, “We’ll have to invite Hershel to stay with us too.” Henry nodded in agreement.

The thought of seeing Hershel must have lifted Randall’s spirits slightly. Randall snorted, “If he  _ever_ gets a free moment... I’ll be  _forty_ by the time he comes to visit—“ 

His eyes widened with horror. “D-do you think  I’ll still have  _hair_ by then? My old man started going bald when he turned  forty...” Randall shuddered from head to foot. 

Angela stroked his lustrous red hair. “Of  _course_ you will,” she assured him. She glanced back at Henry and gave him a half-shrug. Henry bit his lip. 

“I  _saw_ that, Angela!” Randall gasped. He clutched at the ends of his hair. “I am never cutting my hair  ever again!” 

* * *

_ Some years later...  _

* * *

“Sorry we’re a tad  _la_...” Hershel trailed off. He studied the shaggy red-haired figure in the doorway.

Hershel’s eyesight was not  _that_ bad— despite what Rosa might claim— but he struggled to identify the face under all of that hair. The pointed beard partly obscured their mouth, and the full fringe was in their eyes. How could they even  _see...?_

Hershel hazarded a guess— “...Randall?” 

“Good to see you, Hersh!” The man tackled him in a hug—  _yes, definitely Randall._

Hershel held on to his hat, but he returned the hug with one arm. “You too, old friend.” 

Randall stepped back, beaming, and Hershel chuckled. “I must admit... I didn’t recognise you for a moment.” 

Randall pushed his fringe off his forehead. “But do you  _like_ it?” 

Hershel let out a long hum. In his honest opinion, Randall looked like a cross between Desmond Sycamore and Clark Triton. Though, he severely lacked the former’s flair and the latter’s class. 

“You... remind me of someone,” Hershel said carefully. He could  really use an intervention from his children right now— what was taking Flora so long to park the car? 

“Firth thinks I resemble him now,” Randall said, sounding pleased. 

“That’s your... adoptive father, isn’t it?” Hershel recalled.

“Yeah! But there’s also someone else...” Randall pointed dramatically at Hershel. “ YOU,  SIR!” (Hershel hadn’t actually unveiled a culprit in quite a long time.) 

Hershel nodded, unconvinced.  “ _Right...”_

“The  _messy hair_?” Randall waved a hand over his head. “Come on— it’s like looking in a _mirror!”_

“From several _decades_ ago,” Hershel murmured. For a moment, his heart swelled with warmth for those bygone days, when his only worries involved watching Randall’s back and handing in homework on time. 

“If you think  _I_ look different, wait till you see  _Henry_!” 

Hershel began, “ _What—?”_ but Randall was already dragging him inside the mansion. 

Henry, Angela and Dalston were waiting for them in the parlour. All of them appeared remarkably different from the last time Hershel had met up with them. 

Henry had grown a  _moustache_. Not inspired by Don Paolo (thank goodness!). It was more like that charming fellow who had followed Hershel around on his adventures—  _Aldus_? Or was it  _Stachen?_

Henry’s moustache was blonde and slightly curled at the ends, but not too much. He was the complete antithesis of a moustache twirling villain. In fact, it gave the impression that Henry was perpetually smiling. He had also lost his short beard. 

“How are you, Hershel?” Henry asked. Hershel then realised that he was truly  _was_ smiling. 

“A little surprised, honestly,” Hershel confessed. “You all look well, but I see you’ve made some... changes.” 

He blinked at Angela, who had cut her blonde hair. It was still curly, but now it just about reached her ears. (What was that style called— a ‘fairy cut’? He would have to check with Kat later.) Either way, Angela looked as radiant as ever. 

“You’ve hardly changed at all,” Angela said fondly.

“He gets that from his Ma and Pa,” Randall laughed. 

“ _Baby face_ ,”  Dalston coughed behind his hand. 

Hershel stared at him. Contrary to Henry, Dalston had done away with his thin moustache. 

“ _Don’t_ ask,” Dalston growled before Hershel could even open his mouth. 

“Oh my  _gosh_...” Randall giggled. “You should have  _seen_ his face,  Hershel...”  He made a scissoring motion with his fingers. “ _Snip, snip_ ... and Dalston’s ‘stache was history—“ 

“ _You’ll_ be history when I get hold of you, Ascot!” Dalston roared. He stared chasing Randall around the parlour table.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Henry announced, rushing out to the kitchen. 

Randall, with his lack of vision, nearly tripped over a table leg. 

Angela didn’t pay him any mind. She gestured for Hershel to sit next to her on the settee. 

“I meant to ask,” she said, “is Flora with Alfendi and Katrielle?” 

“Yes, they’re just parking the car at the hotel,” Hershel replied. He didn’t mind if the three of them wanted to explore the city on their way over. Flora was more than capable of looking after her siblings. 

In the meantime, Hershel intended to catch up with his old friends. 


End file.
